Birthright 01 - An Introduction
The start of the New Year is always marked by a new moon capping off a week of revelry. The week-long observance of Derarus is less a month, and more of a celebration that with the end of winter, the year is over and a new one is ready to begin. Here in Silvermarch, the week of Derarus is marked by six days of festivals, where people from all over the March - and indeed, from over all of the Marches, and the surrounding region - fill the city for a week of celebration, putting to rest the old year and looking forward to the next. This last Derarus has set the city alight, metaphorically, as each of the six nights were lit up by star showers illuminating the dark skies. An omen? Sign from the gods? A sign of some magic event? No-one knows yet, but discussion as to this portentous showing is already rife through the city. But meanwhile, the days move on, and just as soon as one years finishes, another begins. As winter gives way to spring, Derarus gives way to Jherrus, and thus the 233 year of the March Reckoning has begun. Oaths and agreements that by tradition were made in the final weeks of Quarir are now to be begun by those party to them - traditionally marriages, oaths of allegiance, and business arrangements, such as the formation of a new Free Company. Not the imposing, regal estates, impressive temples, or the district-sized University of the Stone Quarter. Nor the packed masses of people and industries of Dockside, nor the burgeoning merchant presence of the Timber Quarter. Not even the riot of colour and various cultures which make up the revelous Foreign Quarter. Three Corners is all of this but separate still - a microcosm of Silvermarch in the heart of the city. Named either for its place as junction between most of the city’s districts, or its central crossroads where two of the largest roadways of the city meets, Three Corners is known best for its mesh of the city’s various identities, itinerant population of adventurers, mercenaries, and other less salubrious professionals, and its eponymous Three Corners Marketplace. Set in a vast field encompassing the area of several city blocks, Three Corners Marketplace is the largest hub of free enterprise in the entire city-state. Most everything you could think of finding in a marketplace being offered by people from all corners of the greater region. Black-skinned spice traders from Sheyadeng run stalls net to pale-white ivory importers from the Fjordlands. Dusky folk from the Western Expanses haggling over the prices of decorative stone sold by eerie Moth people from Tesh’viir. Burly orcish porters carrying goods up from the docks, svelte elves eyeing both wares and the crowd around them with avaricious gazes. Dwarves arguing the finer points of smelting catalysts with reek alchemical purveyors. The air is thick and heavy with the smells of burning incense and roasting meat. The cacophony of a thousand buyers and sellers is accentuated by the crash, song, and screech of wares. Most everything, and everyone, you can think of - you can find it in the Markets. Hemmed in on two sides by the arterial roadways that form the structure of Three Corners, at the north-east corner of the market is the Three Corners crossroad. More than a meeting of streets, the crossroads is the centre of the district, its heart. And diagonally opposite the markets, looming over the roadway as if as slightly inebriated as its clientele, is the sprawling Dragon’s Payoff inn. Supposedly, this huge inn and tap-house was purchased and built from the surrounding tenement blocks by an old retired Free Company adventurer - Rafe Morgansten, a typically grizzled human man, well into the end of his middle years. Now more scar tissue than man, Rafe runs the bar of his public house himself, with his brusque manner and mercenary history drawing many Free Company members and hopefuls alike to frequent his establishment. After only a few decades of existing, the Dragon’s Payoff has made a name for itself as Silvermarch’s Free Company haunt of choice - no doubt helped by the fact that it is only a ten minute walk from the Companies Hall. It is already late morning on this crisp, early Spring Airday. The markets are already packed to bursting, while the Dragon’s Payoff murmurs with the gentle hubbub of a sparsely packed common room. The tavern smells like leather, tobacco and spilt ale. A few older types crowd their chairs around the fireplace, swearing at each other and laughing loudly at their own jokes. A few city guardsmen sit at their own table, helms and bright blue tabards in a pile next to them, sharing a drink after the end of a night shift. And finally, a group of five share a long table, three dwarves, a half-elf, and a tabaxi, eating their breakfast and drinking their lunch. Kadjedaya lounged in his chair picking at his meal while the two dwarven brothers spoke amongst themselves. “Dorgin,” Kromnar began. “Is the paperwork finished?” “Aye,” his brother nodded. “The last sheet is with the Hall now. We’re a Free Company at last.” Kromnar smiled and slapped his brother on the back. “Good, good!” Cleo let out a long, exaggerated sigh of relief. “Finally!” “Humans!” Dorgin rolled his eyes. “Always so impatient.” The youngest dwarven sibling clicked her tongue. “Tsk. Come now brother, be nice.” Cleo gave Dorgin a dirty look as Kromnar glanced at Dorgin and raised an eyebrow. “Hah.” Dorgin turned to face Cleo directly. “It was good of you to speak with your contacts on our behalf, Cleo. We would not have come this far without you.” Djed nodded in agreement. “Always nice to have a local expert.” Dorgin spread his arms wide and addressed the other four. “So - we are a Free company. What shall we do with our freedom?” “So,” Kromnar turned back to Cleo. “Who is it we are waiting for?” Their breakfast was interrupted by a new arrival. Just inside the tavern’s doorway stood a small woman - clad in sailcloth trousers and a simple linen shirt, with bare feet, she looked like any of the workers or labourers from down in Dockside. Her skin was duskier than most people of the Marches, suggesting some blood from the west, and some mousy brown hair fell loose from underneath her oversized newsboy’s cap. Mousy. That was the best way to describe this woman - mousy. She was obviously Cleo’s contact, the lead runner he had told his compatriots about - Felicity Clementine. Felicity scanned the tavern quickly, and grinned when her eyes alighted on their table. She walked over to the table - not quite a saunter, but not far from it. Grabbing a chair from a nearby table, she dragged it to theirs, spun it around, and straddled it. She eyed each one of the party in turn, with the same grin she walked over with. With that she faced Cleo. “Lasses. Lads. How’re you folk doing this morning?” Solla was the first to reply; “Waiting for you.” Without missing a beat, Felicity turned to the young half-dwarf. “An' I'm definitely worth the wait. So tha's gotta make your morning.” Kadjedaya snorted and Solla rolled her eyes at this, while her eldest sibling admonished her. “Solla, be polite.” Pouting, Solla returned to stroking the chicken in her lap. Clementine grinned and pointed to it. “Is that lunch?” Solla turned back to the woman, wide-eyed with a look of indignation. “No! That’s my pet.” She continued to pat the bird. Felicity rolled her eyes and mutters; “Chooks are fer eatin’, not keepin’.” The two dwarven brothers spoke up. “That one is to be kept.” Dorgin began, while Kromnar followed with a homily; “If you eat the chicken you don’t get its eggs, miss Clementine.” The tabaxi at the table nodded in agreement to Felicity however; “More’s the shame.” Felicity glanced at Kadjedaya for a moment, and smirked. She looked back to Cleo “Didn’t knowya had one o’ them cat people workin’ fer ya, Chance. Or under ya.” she snickered. Djed growled softly in response. This did little more than to elicit another grin from the woman. “Felicity,” Cleo said, drawing Felicity's attention back to her. “Don’t be so brash.” She chuckled in response. “You. Tellin’ me not to be brash. That’s richer than you are.” “And don’t you forget how rich I am.” Cleo countered, grinning herself. As the two human poked fun at each other back and forth, Solla went from petting the chicken in her lap to reaching over and stroking the arm fur of Djed while muttering “There, there.” Startled at the touch, the tabaxi pulled away in shock, and stared back at Solla. Kromnar quietly admonished Solla again. “Solla… ask first.” Meanwhile, Felicity and Cleo continued their sparring. “Forget how rich you are? Rich enough now to be workin’ w’ these folk now?” “That,” Cleo replied, “is none of your business.” “Y’ gonna find that’s pretty much all o’ my damn business.” Felicity muttered, before continuing with a brighter tone; “Speakin’ of work…” With that, Felicity reached into a bulky pouch strapped to her belt. From it, she withdrew a messy roll of papers, tied together with a frayed length of twine. Untying the roll and letting it flop loose on the tavern table, she licked a finger and thumb and flicked through the stack. Every so often, she pulled one out to pass over to the five at the table. “This one” she began, “looks innerestin’. Single flyers, hand done. Writin’ looks like someone who dunno March too good. Could be a foreigner?” Solla nodded. “Could be interesting to work for a foreigner.” “I got this one from a temple notice board,” she hands over the next. “Askin’ for discrete people. Discrete usually means coin.” Dorgin was the first to speak. “Discrete usually means distasteful.” Kromnar nodded. “Hmm. Doesn’t it also mean potential illegal activities?” Felicity hands over one more sheaf. This one looks to be torn from a notebook, and the writing on it is… enthusiastic? “Righ’ an’ this one is my one. Been hearing word down Dock-ways that there’s a new gang of bruisers w’ a bit more, uh, ambition than smarts. You go find ‘em and shut ‘em down, an’ I figger you could let either the guard know or the racket runners down Dockside know and get in good w’ either?” “That,” Dorgin began, “ seems to be an interesting enterprise. Kromnar nodded again at that. Kadjedaya spoke up; “Hmm… no direct reward, but…” “Could do that, knocking some skulls sounds fun.” Cleo picked up as Djed trained off. Solla barked out a laugh at that. Felicity shuffled all the other loose papers and parchments back together and rolled them up. Retying the twine, she stuffed the roll back into her belt pouch. She turned back to the five. “Well, that’s all I got fer you folk. I figger that’s gotta be…” Felicity looks at you all, mind churning. The tip of her tongue can be seen poking from the corner of her mouth. “That’s 7 silvers for the three o’ them. That’s findage and deliverage. Sound fair?” she grins. Kromnar turned to Cleo. “Cleo?” Cleo rolled her eyes. “It’s not easy being the money as well. Fine.” Felicity grinned and held her hand out as Cleo passed over half a dozen coins. “A’right then chums, it’s been fun but I got lot more work to get up to.” Felicity kept grinning, stuffing a loose strand of hair back up underneath her hat. She turned to Cleo. “You know where to find me when you want more, ayeh? An’ let me know how these turn out for ya. Hope it’s profitable.” With that, Felicity hopped back out of her chair, turned, and wandered back out of the tavern - whistling a tuneless song as she did so. Djed winced at the tuneless display. The party then turned back amongst themselves, looking over the papers Clementine left them with. The first read; ASSISTANCE WANTED THE HELP OF A REGISTERED FREE COMPANY IS REQUIRED FOR THE MISSION OF IMPORTANCE. TRAVEL REQUIRED. DANGER THE PROBABILITY. REMUNERATION PROVIDED. The flyer then listed an address located in the Foreign Quarter, and it was signed off under the name “Ekhetmixot”. Djed nodded in recognition and pointed to the name. “Hmm… one of my countrymen.” The second flyer read; Discrete help needed. Sister Lessia of the Church of our Mother Gyrrid requests the assistance of a party of upstanding citizens who can aid in a mission of importance to her teachings of protection and sanctuary, whilst maintaining discretion and decorum. Reward offered. The flyer provided the address to a small temple of Gyrrid in the northern portion of the Stone Quarter, near the old city walls. The final note was a selection of train-of-thought musing, observations, and maps in chicken scratch handwriting concerning the apparent rise of a gang of thugs causing trouble down in Dockside. The note detailed the locations they’d been seen, times and dates of confrontations, and the like. The suggestion inherent in the note is to take down the gang, and deliver the news to either the city watch or the more established Dockside thieves and smugglers guilds or a reward and a bit more social capital. Cleo tapped the note. “This, legally, is a bit of a grey area. I’d need to check with some friends whether we can rough up some nobodies without the city watch coming down on us, instead.” Passing the notes in between one another, Dorgin was the first to break a long silence of reading, comprehension and contemplation. “I would help the sister, first of all.” His brother nodded in agreement. “Hmm, the temple notice seems the most straightforward to me.” Djed looked to the others at the table. “Mother Gyrrid is well revered here, correct?” “Yes,” Kromnar replied, “she is the goddess of family and community.” “Djed nodded in understanding. “I would like to learn more of these local gods. I too think we should head to the sister’s aid.” Kromnar turned to Cleo and his sister. “Solla? Cleo?” “Fine,” Cleo replied. “Yep, sounds fine.” Solla nodded. “Let’s go.” Category:Birthright